


The Smell of Books

by HSavinien



Series: Smell of Books [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Insecurity, Libraries, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Ray visit the library.  Fraser is thrilled.  Ray is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smell of Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [podfic_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/podfic_lover/gifts).



There was something almost sacred about the smell of old books to Benton, doubtless a legacy inherited from his grandparents. He could categorize the scent into old paper, leather, dust, binding glue, and a slight hint of mildew, but the whole was undeniably greater than the sum of its parts and all those smells together meant peace and safety. Books were constant and reliable, as timeless in their way as the tundra was in its own. While re-readings highlighted hitherto unremarked passages, turns of phrase, and ideas, the text remained the same. Only the reader changed. Likewise, the wide open spaces of the Northwest Territories contained the revelation of tiny rock flowers, the majesty of a peak viewed from a new angle, the ever-shifting but dependable inevitability of semi-legal traplines.

Benton stopped his line of thought, blinking with the awareness that his metaphor had gotten sidetracked somewhat, and focused on the matter at hand. Books. Old books.

“So this fence, he calls me because he's never seen writing like this and figures it's some sort of code and man did way too much of _something_ in the seventies and is kinda paranoid about Russians sending secret messages to little green men or something,” Ray continued, fingers tapping out a syncopated beat on the edge of his desk by the book. “Which means I call you because there's no way I'm letting you rot with the Ice Queen's filing and Turnbull's birdwatching stories any more this week plus also you were raised by librarians, which I remembered to quote at Welsh, so you're probably an expert anyway.” Ray flicked him a glance, sly despite the empty bullpen. “But no licking it, since it's worth more than I make in, like, a year.”

“Yes, Ray, I'm sure I can manage,” Benton said, as blandly as possible, letting his best innocent mask slip into place. Ray's mouth spread in a lightning-flash grin and crowsfeet wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

Benton opened the worn leather cover gently, mindful of the binding, and let his fingers drift over soft, unevenly-cut pages, flipping carefully through the book. There were a few places more thoroughly-thumbed than the rest, from the ease at which the book fell open there. Benton scanned over dense lines of type for a few minutes, then ran his fingers along the edges of the end-papers and checked the stitching, looking for anything that would suggest hidden extra pages. When he looked up at last, Ray was still watching him, the tilt of his head matching Diefenbaker's.

Dief gave an interrogative whine, adding that it certainly _smelled_ like it was from someplace interesting.

“May I suggest a trip to the Harold Washington Library Center for research purposes? Paranoid though your contact may be, he was correct in one particular. This book _is_ written in Cyrillic characters – the Russian alphabet, that is – and I'm afraid my Russian is not terribly good.”

“The... where?”

“The central branch of the Chicago Public Library, Ray. It was named for-”

“For the last mayor, right, right, I knew that. Seriously?” Ray's smile faded abruptly. “Uh, do we both have to go?”

“Well, no, of course not. Whatever is the matter, Ray?”

“I thought you'd have, like, an old Russian neighbor who'd do you a translation or something out of gratitude for a fixed floorboard,” Ray said, shifting in his seat. “I don't go to the library much. Not since uh...” his voiced stalled.

Benton raised an eyebrow.

Ray ran one hand through his hair. “I, uh. I got a lot of books out on cars and old movies right after the Stella kicked me out and I kinda... didn't give them back.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hey, don't get all stiff at me. I didn't mean to. I signed on for an undercover gig really quick after that and had to move and I guess the box with the books didn't quite make the trip 'cause I never found them.”

“That was very neglectful, Ray,” Benton said severely, despite his inner quiver of amusement.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Libraries are one of the foundation stones of democracy, Ray.”

“Yeah, I get it, they rock.”

“Free public libraries are one of the few places where literature is readily available to suit every member of society, Ray.”

Ray's forehead hit his desk with a soft thump. “For crying out loud...”

“As publicly-funded institutions, they rarely have enough of a budget to acquire as much of a collection as they wish, Ray.”

Ray squinted up at him sideways. Benton peered down at his partner solemnly. “You are trying to wind me up,” Ray said, sitting up abruptly. “You are doing that... that info-dump guilt trip thing at me to wind me up!”

Benton raised his eyebrows. Dief's jaw lolled open in silent merriment.

Ray burst out with a bark of a laugh. “Nice try, buddy. Fine, we'll got to the library and I'll stick some twenties in the donation box or something. Okay?”

“That would be acceptable, Ray,” he replied, letting his amusement curl softly behind the words.

“Right, okay. Car.”

“Lead the way.”

Ray did.

***

Diefenbaker was a little put out to learn that he was not allowed in the library and curled up on the back seat in a huff when Benton remarked sharply that, as snack foods were not allowed either, he wasn't missing much that would interest him anyway. Ray just rolled his eyes.

***

The language and literature subject librarian, a young man with glasses and flyaway gingery hair, was quite enthusiastic about their translation project. He led Benton to the Russian dictionaries and phrasebooks, chatting cheerfully all the way about a reorganization project and one of the new neighborhood branch libraries near the Canadian embassy. Ray trailed behind them and Benton noted from his scowl that Ray seemed to have taken a dislike to something in the librarian's manner. When the librarian departed with a reminder to find him again if they needed any more help, Benton looked at his partner inquiringly.

“What?” Ray asked.

“He was perfectly polite. I don't know why you took such a dislike to him.”

Ray leaned against the bookshelf. “What, just because now some gay librarian's joining the swarming crowd of women who want to get into your puffy pants? Nah, don't know why that'd bother me.”

Benton sighed and scanned the call numbers. “Ray, it is a common misconception that many or all male librarians are homosexual and I'm surprised to hear you subscribing to it.”

“Yeah, sure. So, got the book you need?”

“Yes, Ray. I just found two that should be what we need.” He pulled out a Russian-English dictionary and an Introductory Russian manual. “If you'll accompany me to the desk, I'll check them out and we can adjourn to your apartment.”

“Huh?”

“That would be a more comfortable location to complete our research and it is nearly supper time. If you wouldn't mind? I believe Diefenbaker would prefer it to another evening in the Consulate.”

Ray nodded. “Sure, I'll call for a pizza or something.”

***

Diefenbaker was settled in the living room with half the pizza and closed-captioned hockey on Ray's television. Benton had decided that the best way to cure Ray's pique over the attentive librarian was through practical demonstration of his affection, so he ushered Ray into the bedroom and set about proving his very thorough appreciation of Ray's personal charms over those of whoever else might express an interest.

Afterwards, he shared their portion of the now-cold pizza absently between the two of them, ate his quickly, and cleaned his hands, then turned to the translation.

The book turned out to be a long treatise on the curative properties of borscht, by a Mr. Andrei Chekhov. This made Ray laugh for reasons he would not explain, but he promised to pass on the information to his nervous fence. Benton shook his head, but set the books carefully aside and lay back on the mussed sheets, curving instinctively toward the heat of Ray's skin. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the combination of the scents of Ray, sexual release, sweat, pizza, and underneath it all the comfortable, safe smell of the old Russian book.


End file.
